


no, come back!

by yawnralphio



Series: Fictober20 [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Gen, fictober20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yawnralphio/pseuds/yawnralphio
Summary: Buck searches desperately through an apartment building.
Series: Fictober20 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967260
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	no, come back!

Flames licked over Buck’s head and he dropped to his knees, trying to peer through a haze of smoke. The paint on the walls bubbled and curled back on itself before his eyes.

He tipped forward onto his hands, pushing his axe along with him as he crawled forward, putting distance between him and the source of the fire. The radio crackled to life in his ear and Bobby’s voice came through a broken, garbled mess.

"Buck – need you to – side.”

“What?” Buck shouted into his receiver, pausing his progress to press the button. There was no response. Behind him, a chunk of the suspended ceiling crashed to the floor. More fuel for the flames closing in. “Great,” Buck grumbled, trying to remember the hallway layout from the evac map in the lobby.

He pushed forward, testing the floor with his axe every few feet to make sure it wouldn’t give way beneath his weight. He came to an intersection after several feet and paused to look both ways. Smoke filled one side of the long hallway, but the other was almost clear.

There were shiny golden stickers on the doors, numbers that told him he was in the right place. He sat up and out of the corner of his eye he spotted movement at the end of the hallway.

“Hey!” Buck called out, scrambling to get to his feet. “Hey, kid!” He hustled toward the last door on the right as it snapped shut, reaching for the knob when he arrived. It was locked, but the materials were thin, and it only took putting his shoulder into the door once for the wood to splinter and give.

He scanned the small space inside.

The smoke was thinnest inside the apartment. A pair of wide, terrified eyes stared at him from behind a recliner, and then the child bolted further into the apartment.

“No, come back!” Buck yelled, sparing a glance back the way he’d come. The fire was spreading toward them, but its pace had slowed considerably. He left the busted door open and hustled toward the kid. Scared or not, he would get them both out alive.

He moved down the narrow hall to the only closed door and tested the knob. This one wasn’t locked, and he pushed into the room, frantically searching for movement. There was a beat of silent stillness, and then the child rushed toward him.

The boy turned sideways to try and squeeze between Buck and the frame. Buck caught him around the waist and hefted him, kicking and screaming, up onto his shoulder. The kid shouted at him in a language Buck couldn’t understand.

He turned, tightened his grip, and started scanning the windows of the apartment for signs of a fire escape. He found it in the next room, and didn’t bother setting the kid down. He swung his axe one handed, shielding the kid from the glass that rained down at his feet.

With the kid cradled safely against his shoulder, Buck crawled out onto the fire escape. He held tight to the boy and made his way quickly toward the ground, ignoring the sound of windows being blown out from above them.

The alley was quiet when his boots hit the ground; the kid was no longer struggling, just crying quietly into Buck’s shoulder. He jogged toward the street where flashing red and blue lights illuminated the asphalt, and emerged with his prize.

The boy’s mother saw him first and cried out in relief. She met Buck at the edge of all the activity, rambling at him in the same foreign language. Hen was close behind her, and she took the boy to start checking him over.

Buck turned to the rest of the crew, only to find Bobby fixing him with his patented Disappointed Dad Stare. He still had one hand on his radio, and he tipped his head toward it. His voice came through loud and clear this time:

“Wrong side of the building.” He smiled slightly, nodding. “But good job.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://yawnralphio.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Reblog [here](https://yawnralphio.tumblr.com/post/630801834441850880).


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